Deadly Neglect
by Elialys
Summary: When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N_** : Okay there !!  
I wrote, and finished, this story in French a year ago. I tried many times to translate it, but my English skills aren't _exactly_ good enough for having something good as a result :-p

So, yes, I wrote the story, but the awesome translation is from **Danie**, aka **LSI**. She's really doing ALL the hard job here, I'm just posting. I think I could never thank you enough for this, I'm so, so grateful!!

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Action

**_Pairing _**: GSR

**_Raiting_ **: T

**_Disclaimer_** : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_Spoilers_** : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

**SUMMARY** : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

**

* * *

**

Deadly Neglect

* * *

Chapter One

The first thing he felt when he woke up was a warm weight on his chest and a heavier weight in the area of his shoulder. He opened his eyes, feeling a little lost, not immediately recognizing his room. _Which is to be expected since I'm not in my room._ He turned his gaze to the woman lying next to him, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her hand resting on his chest. Memories of the past hours past returned, filling him with a strange, uncomfortable sensation. He had fallen prey to his impulses once again. _It was supposed to be a simple dinner, _he told himself, already regretting his actions. A simple dinner, some wine, and an enticing companion, and it had culminated in…well, this: Gil in a bed that wasn't his, having spent a rather energetic night. Not the first of such nights in the past two months.

The first time it happened, it was because he'd had too much to drink. So had she, for that matter. It was soon after Nick's kidnapping and they had found a tremendous release of tension in sex. But they'd quickly agreed that it meant nothing. It wasn't serious. And the next four times hadn't meant anything either.

He exhaled heavily and delicately removed her hand from his chest. He slipped from the bed, slowly and carefully so he wouldn't wake her, picked up his clothes and went to the bathroom for a shower and the hot sprays that would help him clear his head. As he was buttoning up his shirt a little later, an arm slipped around him from behind, startling him.

"Sofia! I thought you were still sleeping."

"The bed is much too cold without you in it."

He continued buttoning his shirt as an uneasy sensation swept through him. "About last night, I was, uh…"

She gave him a small smile and released him. "I know," she said softly. "It doesn't mean anything, certainly not marriage and half a dozen kids. We already talked about this."

Gil nodded, concentrating now on tying his shoelaces. "I have to go. I have to work in twelve hours and need to rest—"

She winked suggestively. "You've earned it."

He forced himself to return her smile despite a single-minded need be out of her apartment. She wasn't responsible for his discomfort. He was. What he was doing with her was opportunistic—nothing to be proud of.

She walked him to the door and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "I'll see you later?"

He nodded, said, "Bye," and rushed out, and didn't begin to relax until he was in his car on his way home.

_Why the hell did I do this again? _No, he had to be honest with himself. He had known what to expect when he accepted her dinner invitation, just as he'd known what he was doing two months before when he had invited her back to his place.

He wouldn't have initiated this relationship if she'd still been working for him, but it was no longer the case. Ecklie had reinstated his team and transferred Sofia back to days. The only reason they managed to see each other was because of their complementary work schedules. His nights off always preceded her days off, which meant that he hadn't rested much, and he needed to be rested for his shift tonight… Still, he had to admit that his night had been pleasant, but—

He didn't love her. And that bothered him.

He hated that he could be the sort of man who slept with one woman while fantasizing about another. The thought made his heart squeeze. He hardly dared consider what _she'd_ think if she knew what he was doing with Sofia.

* * *

_When she saw the look in her father's eyes that night, she knew that she was about to suffer his discipline._

_She shouldn't have spent the afternoon with James and Patrick. She was aware of how vehemently her father opposed her association with these boys. _

"_Only bad girls run around with boys, and you, you can't be a bad girl. Do you hear?" _

"_Yes, daddy."_

_But how could she resist? James had dropped by after lunch, arriving in a frenzy, as usual, on his blue bicycle. 'Hey, Lya! Come on. Pat found a new place for our game!' She should have said no, told him that she had to help her mother clean the apartment, but she never could say 'no' to their game. Without thinking she had shouted to her mother that she was going out and straddled her own rusty bicycle to follow Jamy._

_And, oh, she'd had so much fun! She always had fun with them. They were an inseparable trio: Lya, Pat, and Jamy. She had no idea how she'd ended up with Lya as a nickname since it didn't remotely resemble her real name, but she loved it as much as she loved the two boys who had given it to her. _

_Sara was aware of the risk she was taking by being with them, but she didn't care. With them, everything seemed simpler, more joyful. And they never commented on her bruises or her scratches. Only once had Pat lost his cool. It was the morning she had come to school with a black eye and a swollen wrist. Her wrist was so swollen that she feared it was once again broken. Her friend's face had darkened with an angry flush and he'd told her, "Your father deserves to die, Lya. He's nothing but scum." She had averted her eyes, humiliated, and asked that he never talk about it again._

_Pat and Jamy were the best friends Sara had ever had, and she preferred their company to the company of other girls who were all 'bimbos' as Pat aptly called them. All they did at recess was make fun of Sara. They would call her 'blueface' because of her frequent contusions. In truth, their remarks didn't bother her. She was only eight years old, but already very mature. But she did know how to have fun and when she played the game with Pat and Jamy, she always had fun. _

_Oh, the game wasn't that original; it was simply a game of 'cop and robber', but to them, it was special. She especially enjoyed playing cop while her friends played criminals. It was very exciting, the make-believe high-speed chases, or discovering a crime scene. That was what they'd been playing that afternoon in the abandoned basement Pat had discovered when his basketball fell in a window well._

_A very dusty Sara arrived home late for dinner. The somber atmosphere in the kitchen had immediately snuffed the joy from her, replacing it with hair-raising fear. Her father was leaning back against the refrigerator, his arms folded over his belly, waiting for her. His jaw was clenched, and when she looked into his eyes, she knew that this time would be very bad. She searched her mother's gaze. She was sitting, or rather slouching, in one of the kitchen chairs, and strangely, she appeared calm tonight. Her bottom lip was bleeding though and her right arm sported an ugly red mark, as though it had been violently grasped, which was likely the case._

_Her mother's eyes didn't reassure her. They were empty, slightly glazed. She always trusted her mother more than her father, even if her punishments were occasionally brutal as well. But she was never as violent as her father. She would sometimes try to protect Sara by taking some of the beatings intended for her. Beatings were normal at her house. Sara wouldn't even try to avoid them. After all, parents always did what was best for their kids._

_But tonight, her mother wouldn't take some of Sara's punishments. She was certain of it._

_Swallowing hard, she looked at her father again._

"_Where were you?" His tone was icy, full of tension._

"_I was playing…outside," she answered in a small voice._

_He slowly unfolded his arms. "You were with those boys again."_

"_Daddy…I…you know I…" She couldn't speak a full sentence to save herself. She watched as he made fists and instinctively took a step back._

"_Sara, I warned you." His voice was louder, and she could hear the rage underneath his words._

_He came at her like a raging bull; Sara turned and fled in the direction of the bathroom where she could lock herself in for a while at least. But he was faster and she felt his steel grip on her shoulder. He turned her abruptly and gave her a resounding slap, the kind that hurt the most. She felt her head fling back, and her body followed, hurling toward the wall. Just in time she put out her hands to avoid another head-on collision. But before she could pick herself up, she found herself in her father's angry grip again, his fist slamming into her abdomen, winding her. He kept her pinned to the wall as her small body slumped, gasping for breath._

"_You disappoint me, Sara. You've become a bad girl and bad girls don't deserve better than this."_

_**Beep, beep, beep, beep—**_

Sara's hand slammed down on the alarm clock. Damn clock; couldn't it have gone off a little earlier? She sat up in bed and dried the tears and sweat from her cheeks with a trembling hand. She hated these dreams; there was no worst way to start the day—or night in her case. As hard as she tried to bury these memories, they would always resurface in her dreams around the anniversary of her father's death or when she worked domestic abuse cases.

As she left the bed to start getting ready for work, she thought about the afternoon she revealed her secret to Grissom. She didn't regret telling him. Quite the opposite, in fact. Finally telling someone had been a relief of sorts. She'd never discussed her tumultuous past or the circumstances surrounding her father's death with anyone and over time, it had begun to consume her.

Grissom stopped ignoring her after that which had made her feel better as well. For two years—except for the time she was brought in to the station for driving under the influence—Grissom had mostly avoided her. Sara had tried to reason with herself, bury her feelings, but it was no use. She was in love with him, and she'd rather have him as a friend than not at all.

Once showered, dressed, and feeling human again, she drove to the lab. After Nick's horrific experience, Ecklie had agreed to reinstate their team. To Sara's surprise, Catherine had not rebelled against the decision which had inadvertently stripped her of her supervisory role. She had explained that while she'd found the experience beneficial, she preferred not being in a position of ultimate authority—especially when the shit hit the fan.

Nick had spent several days in the hospital, and had been in therapy ever since. He was still troubled, but overall he seemed to be doing much better. He hadn't lost his smile or his sense of humor, and Sara was happy to have him back. She enjoyed working with him and Warrick. Even during the most horrific cases, she could always count on them for a laugh.

But the most positive outcome of reinstating their team was that she no longer had to work with Sofia. Thank God! It wasn't that Sofia had ever done anything to earn Sara's animosity; still she had never been able to accept her. She didn't like to think it was only because she was a woman, although Sara had to admit that she finally understood how Catherine had felt when she had suddenly descended on them a few years back, stripping Catherine of her status as the only woman on the team. With Sofia, it was more than that. She was on the prowl and had made it clear where her interests lay. It still made Sara's blood boil, so she pushed the thought away as she walked into the break room where Nick, Warrick, and Greg were already slouched in their seats.

"Sara… Tell them it's true," said Greg in lieu of a greeting.

She smiled. "And hello to you too, Greg. I had a very pleasant day. Thank you for asking."

Warrick huffed, adding, "Doesn't look good for you, buddy."

Sara threw him a puzzled look. "What now, Greggo?"

"Uh,…" started Greg, a flush working itself into his cheeks. "It's only, uh…well—"

Nick chuckled as he came to his rescue. "As you probably know, Sara, given your interest in such things, the annual LVPD charity ball is in three weeks." He gave Greg a good natured slap on his back. "Rookie here was telling us that you were going with him this year."

Sara looked at him, partly exasperated, partly amused. "I'm sorry to crush your dreams, Greg, but as I've said every year for the last, oh, five years, 'no'." She headed for the coffeepot, adding, "I already told you I didn't care for these dressed-up affairs." She poured herself a cup of coffee, smiling at the razzing Greg was now getting from the guys.

"Go ahead, laugh," she heard him say. "You probably don't have dates either."

"Well, I do," Warrick replied. "Catherine made me promise to go with her. Seems she's had it with buying a new dress every year only to get dumped the night before the ball. She decided to entrust herself to me this year."

That little nugget of information earned Warrick some boisterous heckles.

"Nothing surprises me anymore," Greg remarked after a moment. "If Grissom could finally do something about his love life, I can believe anything."

Sara, whose back was still to the room, felt the blood run cold in her veins.

"What do mean Grissom did something about his love life?" she heard Nick ask. _Yes, very good question._

"What? You didn't know?" Warrick returned.

Sara's fingers tensed around her coffee mug. _What? What? Know what?_

"He and Sofia crossed that line a couple of months ago. Of course, it's supposed to be a secret, and the rumor is that it's nothing serious, but you know when someone says—"

Thump!

That was the sound of Sara's cup hitting the counter with too much force.

Silence filled the room as the guys remembered Sara's presence and probably realized their mistake. Catherine chose that moment to enter the room.

"Whoa! Is it me or could you cut the tension in here?"

Sara gripped the edge of the counter, her eyes slammed shut as she tried to regain her composure and keep the moisture out of her eyes. _Calm down. Calm down,_ she kept telling herself, Greg and Warrick were probably just pulling our leg. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn't make herself believe it. His words continued to echo in her head… _"They crossed that line two months ago."_

"Sara…you okay?" Catherine asked from behind her, and she merely nodded, fearing that if she opened her mouth to speak she'd either vomit, scream or worse, break down in sobs.

She felt rather than saw Grissom come into the room at that moment, and was suddenly filled with rage. After five years of working with him, all he'd managed to do was hold her hand once or twice, yet he'd jumped the blonde after a mere six months!

"Hey, everybody," Grissom said in a lighthearted tone. "I hope you're all well rested because we have a big night ahead of us."

He was in a good mood, Sara thought. _Did you have a pleasant day off, Grissom?_ came the sarcastic voice in her head. _Oh, God. Turn around, Sara. Turn around before he starts asking questions._

She finally made herself face the room, though she kept her eyes downcast.

"Warrick and Greg, you get an armed robbery in an upscale clothing store," Grissom continued. "One of the clerks and a customer were killed." He handed them the assignment slip. "Catherine and Nick, you get a missing person. The guy's wife is very upset. Sara, you're with me. Murder in a downtown apartment."

A dizzying buzz filled Sara's skull. Why did he have to choose her as a partner? It wasn't as if they were short-staffed now. Her eyes rose briefly to meet his somewhat incredulous gaze, and then abruptly fell. "Okay," she said coldly before breezing past him and out of the room.

* * *

Grissom frowned as he watched Sara leave. Turning to the others, he focused on Catherine. She raised her arms in a manner that made it clear she was also in the dark where Sara was concerned. The others were on their feet, gathering papers and files, doggedly avoiding his gaze. _What have they done, now?_

Grissom sighed and left to join Sara in the hallway. "We're taking my car," was all he said.

Her attitude troubled him. She hadn't behaved that way with him in a very long time and he wondered what could have set her off this time, but he knew better than to ask. They drove to the crime scene in a tension filled silence, which persisted as they rode the elevator to the third floor apartment. Gil was relieved to see Brass.

"What have we got, Jim?"

"Jessica Lown, thirty-four years' old. Single, no kids. Her neighbor across the hall called it in. I'm on my way to talk to her. Your victim is in the bedroom."

Gil entered the apartment with Sara. The two officers guarding the scene led them to the bedroom.

"Did you touch anything?" Gil asked.

One of the officers shook his head. "No sir. Everything is as we found it."

He and Sara entered the room. "Hmm… how charming," Sara observed.

The young woman was lying supine in the middle of the bed. Her wrists were tied to a bed post. It was immediately apparent that she had been mutilated. Her eye sockets were bloody; so was the sheet covering her body.

They approached the bed, each taking a side. Sara began taking pictures of the body from different angles.

"First blush… The concentration of blood on the sheet suggests she was wounded in the abdominal area. Her ears were severed and…" she approached the headboard and shot a close-up of the woman's bound hands, "…the tip of her fingers. All, except the right index."

Grissom leaned over the body, frowning. "He removed her eyes." He shook his head. "We're dealing with another maniac."

"Hi. Sorry I'm late." David approached the victim and immediately went to work. "Based on rigor mortis, she's been dead at least twenty-four hours," he told them as Grissom and Sara moved around the room, continuing their investigation in silence.

They lifted some prints, but otherwise didn't have much to go on. The killer had been meticulous; they found no hair or footprints, no evidence—other than the body, of course—that anyone else had been in the room.

Gil returned to the bed and carefully slipped the sheet down over the woman's body to reveal two bloody wounds on her abdomen, probably caused by a knife or other sharp object. He continued to slip the sheet down the body until—

"Sara. I think I found the murder weapon."

A kitchen knife. The killer had placed it next to the victim's body on the mattress. Sara rushed over and snapped a couple of pictures, allowing Grissom to lift the knife and dust it for prints, but it was clean.

They eventually left the bedroom to process the rest of the apartment, but there too, they came up empty. They stepped out to find Brass who'd just completed his interviews with the victim's closest neighbors.

"The woman who called it in is Mrs. Kiggle," Brass told them. "Old lady; Jessica would come by late every afternoon to take her out for a walk. When she didn't show tonight, Mrs. Kiggle went to see what was keeping her. She knocked, got no answer, so she used her key to let herself in and well, found the body. She's in choc."

"We'll need her prints."

Sara looked at Brass. "Did you find out anything from the other neighbors? Anyone hear strange noises?..."

Brass shook his head. "Negative. They're all members of the senior's club and the hard of hearing committee. They must have all been sleeping without their hearing aids because no one heard anything."

Sighing, Sara went to find Mrs. Kiggle to get her fingerprints.

Back at the lab, they spread out the little evidence they'd collected and examined each piece closely.

"I hate it when killers are too careful," Sara said after a while. "We don't have much to go on."

"And that's when I find it interesting. It forces us to be doubly alert in order to get to the truth. It makes the job more…thrilling."

He lifted his eyes to her and smiled, and while she held his gaze, her dark and cold mask didn't crack. His smile died a slow, painful death. Perhaps he shouldn't have chosen Sara to work with today instead of Warrick or Nick. But he hadn't been able to resist, and he strongly suspected it was because of this guilt eating at him. He was well aware that what he was doing with Sofia wasn't fair, not to him, nor to Sara—

He stiffened as a hint of suspicion, a sickening suspicion, entered his mind. _Is it possible that Sara knows?_

His phone rang and he quickly answered. After hanging up he said to Sara, "Doc is ready for us."

They left together for the morgue, but as they neared the reception desk, Sara stopped, stone cold. Gil's gaze followed hers. She was gawking at a tall, fair-haired man he would have guessed to be around her age, and as the man turned his head in their direction and he saw Sara, a slow smile spread across his lips.

"Hey, Lya, you don't mess around," he shot teasingly. "You always end up working in the best labs."

Stunned, Gil looked at Sara. To his dismay she was beaming at the man.

"Jamy…" She spoke his name softly, reverently almost, and before Gil could process what was happening, she had hastily thrown herself into the man's arms.

"Hi, baby. I missed you, too."

_TBC

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_

**A/N** : There's ten more chapters to go from here. I would REALLY love to know your thoughts about it :)  
If you liked it and want more, _please_ don't hesitate to thanks **LSI **!! She's the one sending me the translated chapters! ;-)


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N_** : Danie is the _best_. Period.  
She already gave me the chance to be thrilled all day long yesterday, and now, she also made my day, sending me the second chapter. We must all bow deeply.

And you guys, you're awesome, too!! I really am overwhelmed by the really positive response I got for the first chapter. I'm so glad that the (_cough_) Grissom/Sofia thing didn't turn you off :)  
I hope you'll be enjoying this chapter as well! Reviews are really loved, and don't forget your vow of devotion to LSI :-D

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Action

**_Pairing _**: GSR

**_Raiting_ **: T

**_Disclaimer_** : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_Spoilers_** : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

**SUMMARY** : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

**

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**

Deadly Neglect

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Chapter Two  


_Sara let herself into the studio apartment and closed the door behind her. Leaning back against it, she smiled dreamily. James, who was on the bed reading, looked up, his eyes widening in delighted surprise when he saw her. _

"_It's the first time I see you come back from one of these seminars in a good mood," he remarked, chuckling at her blissful expression. "Have you finally figured out that they can be interesting if you actually stay awake for them?"_

_Still smiling, Sara pushed herself from the door and near floated over to the bed before collapsing next to him. "Do you believe in love at first sight, James?" Her voice had an equally dreamy lilt to it as she stared up at the ceiling in a daze._

_He smiled. "If you'd asked me five minutes ago, I would have said 'no'. But looking at you now, I think I'll say 'yes', without hesitation."_

_She threw him a skeptical look. "I thought you fell in love at first sight every week; at least that's what you keep telling me."_

_He laughed and ruffled her hair. "You know, Lya, I think I may exaggerate at times. Sure, I've met some drop-dead gorgeous men, but once I get to know them, they always lose their charm." She smiled, but he could tell she wasn't really paying attention to much of what he was saying. "Okay, Sweetie. Tell me what is so special about this lucky guy?"_

"_Tall…witty… intelligent…very charming smile… And his eyes! Oh, Jamy, you should see his eyes…" Sara punctuated her sentence with a soul shattering sigh that filled him with tenderness. He'd never seen her react this strongly to a man before._

"_And this fabulous guy—who, by the way, you'd do well not to introduce me to unless you want me to steal him away from you—does he have a name?" _

_Her smile widened. "Grissom."

* * *

_

"James, I'd like you to meet Gil Grissom, my boss. Grissom, this is James MacDouglas. He works for the FBI."

The two men politely shook hands, James more enthusiastically than Grissom who was definitely scowling. James, however, smiled warmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grissom. I've heard a lot about you, and not only in the press."

Sara discretely elbowed James, but Grissom had to have noticed. To draw attention away from the heated flush she felt on her cheeks, she smiled widely at James. "It's really wonderful to see you again, James. It's been, what?..."

"At least six years, if not seven. But just so you know, I've been framing all your letters and I re-read them every night before going to sleep."

He winked at her and Sara drew him into another hug. She couldn't help it. She really couldn't have been more pleased to see anyone.

Grissom interrupted the moment by clearing his throat. "I'm sorry to break up this fascinating little reunion, but I must remind you that you're still on the clock, Sara, and we have an autopsy report waiting for us."

If she hadn't been on cloud nine, the coldness in his tone would have hurt. But she wouldn't let him ruin the moment. Ignoring his sullen expression, she nodded. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a minute."

He pursed his lips, as though holding back another comment, but finally, he sighed and left. Sara watched him go, and then looked at James, an apology in her eyes. "I hate to leave you so soon, but he's right. My shift ends at seven; what would you say to breakfast?"

"Perfect," he replied. "I have some important things to tell you." Sara apologized again and gave him the name of a restaurant where they could meet later. And as she was about to leave, Jamy leaned in and whispered, "You know, I think your boss hates me."

Sara walked away and then turned back. "No one can hate you, Jamy. You're simply too adorable."

Grissom and Doc Robbins were waiting for her in the autopsy room. Grissom shot her a look filled with annoyance when she came in, which made Sara's anger return in spades. Seeing James had helped her momentarily forget the painful discovery she'd made a few hours ago, but alone with Grissom again, all the hurt was resurfacing. She returned his look with a cold one of her own, internally grateful that at least she wasn't the only irritable one. She was aware of how childish a thought that was, but she couldn't help it. _Turnabout is fair play, Griss._

Doc either missed the tension between them, or ignored it and immediately launched into his report. Removing the sheet covering the victim's body, he drew their attention to the two stab wounds on the woman's abdomen. "She suffered several injuries, but this is what killed her. The first hit perforated a lung, the second a kidney. I estimate time of death at around nine Thursday night," he concluded.

"And what of the mutilation?" Sara asked.

Robins gestured to the victim's face. "Post mortem," he said. "She was fortunate. The killer removed her eyes, severed her ears, and—" he pried open the woman's mouth inviting them to take a look…

"He cut off her tongue," Grissom added and Sara couldn't hide her disgust.

She understood what the doctor meant when he said that the woman had been fortunate, but what would have really been fortunate was for none of this to have happened in the first place.

Doc was grasping the woman's right hand. "The tips of nine fingers were amputated, leaving only her right index," he continued. "Again, post-mortem." He shook his head, his own disgust showing. "The nut who did this to her knew what he was doing. These situations often turn into butcheries, but in this case, the killer used a very precise object to cut her up. Probably a scalpel; and he knew how to use it."

For a moment, no one spoke. They observed the body in respectful silence.

"Anything else?" Grissom finally asked.

Doc nodded. "I didn't notice this at first, but after washing the body, I did find something else. Give me a hand," he said to Grissom, and the two men carefully turned the woman's body. Doc drew their attention to the back of her left knee. Grissom and Sara leaned in to take a closer look at the wound.

"This was probably done post mortem as well," Doc said of the small carving on the back of her knee.

Sara squinted to try to make out the small surface flesh wound, and then suddenly, her blood turned to ice. _What the—_

It was definitely a symbol, no more than a couple of centimeters in diameter. And it was familiar to Sara. Much too familiar. She felt the blood drain from her face as her stomach tightened. It wasn't possible; she must be imagining it. After all, she hadn't thought about this in twenty years.

"Are you alright?" asked Robins.

She looked up at him and nodded, swallowing with difficulty. "Yes…I…it's just that…" She had no idea what she wanted to say, or should say. Her brain felt scrambled. Sensing Grissom's eyes on her, she turned her attention to him. His concern mirrored Doc's, and it occurred to her that her two colleagues thought it was the state of the body that was making her ill, which didn't make any sense since she'd seen it all before.

Grissom kept his eyes on her as he addressed Doctor Robins. "I'll cast the wound," he said. "Sara, you should get some fresh air. It will make you feel better."

Sara normally would have objected, but this time, she only nodded and quickly left the room. She didn't go outside, however. Instead, she went to the washroom and locked herself into a stall. Sitting on the toilet seat cover, she bent at the waist, catching her head in her hands. She would have to look for her own peace of mind. In truth, she couldn't even remember exactly what the symbol looked like, and while hers might share some similarities with the victim's, how could they be the same? But a lump was stuck in her throat, and taking a deep breath, she lifted her left pant leg over her knee.

She ran a finger over the crease, at first feeling nothing, but eventually she found the small scar. Given its position, she couldn't see it, so she retrieved a small mirror case she often carried in her back pocket. Not for vanity's sake, that really wasn't her style, but it was often helpful on the job.

As it was now.

She positioned the mirror behind her knee and examined the small whitish scar closely. It had faded over time, but it was real, and even in the inversed reflection of the mirror she could tell that it was identical to the victim's. Except that on the dead woman's, the mark was bright red…fresh.

Sara closed her eyes. What could it mean? She tried to recall the events around which she had inherited this symbol, but her memory of it was sketchy. She hadn't thought of it since that day. Seeing it on the victim had brought those long ago buried memories of it back, but they were still blurry. One thing she was certain of was that finding the identical scar on the body of a woman who had been mutilated wasn't foreboding anything good.

She rose to her feet and left the stall. She splashed some water over her face, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror; she wasn't particularly interested in seeing her pale complexion. Then, leaving the bathroom, she headed for Grissom's office.

She observed him from his doorway for a moment. He was bent over something on his desk and her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Why did her life have to be so complicated? She wondered if she'd ever be happy, really happy. Because every time she sensed that things were getting better, something would happen to harshly bring her back to reality. She had come to work earlier feeling good about her renewed friendship with Grissom, and now, she was in pain because he had entered a relationship with a woman he'd known less than a year, a woman she disliked.

* * *

Too apprehensive of what he'd see, Gil didn't immediately look up even though he knew she was there. But eventually he did, only to confirm his fears. Although, it wasn't anger that burned in Sara's eyes now, but profound sadness. He suspected the reason behind it and hated himself. He was aware of her feelings for him. Unlike him, she had never really attempted to hide them. She had even tried to initiate something by asking him out to dinner once, an invitation he'd refused with no tact whatsoever. She'd also admitted a few months ago that she had moved to Vegas because of him. And what had he said? Nothing. As usual.

Gil was uncomfortable with human emotions. His own made him feel weak and out of control. And Sara…well, she managed only too frequently to make him feel those things, which was why he tried to maintain some distance. He'd lived too long in his shell, and the thought that she could so easily crack it terrified him. So, he would flee.

The previous year had been difficult for him emotionally. She had entrusted her secret to him and that had forced him to think. But once again, he'd concluded that he must do nothing. He was only too aware of the strange connection that had united them since the day they met, but there were too many obstacles; he was her supervisor; a romantic relationship with her could cost them both their careers; their age difference…

But was attempting to end his frustrations by sleeping with Sofia a solution? He doubted it. But at least, it allowed him to find some peace, if only fleetingly. And that was something.

So why did the look on her face right now trouble him so much? Why had he felt like strangling MacDouglas earlier? Suddenly, Sara seemed to snap out of her trance; she shyly lowered her eyes.

"Feeling better?" he asked softly, incapable of cold detachment under the circumstances.

She shook her head. "Not really."

He would have asked why but suspected that would be an irritant, so he said nothing. She approached slowly and stared at the blown up photograph of the symbol in front of him.

He shook his head, at a total loss. "I have no idea where this comes from. I researched it on the Internet but found nothing."

Sara didn't respond but continued to stare at it, her brows knitted in concentration. And then suddenly, he saw her eyes flash as though she'd remembered something important.

"I know what it means," she said softly. Gil looked at her skeptically so she picked up a piece of paper and pen from his desk and handed them to him. "Write this down: Capital J, P, and L." He did as she asked. "Now group the letters together along their vertical line." He drew the 'J' then added the half circle from the 'P' to it, and finally the horizontal line from the 'L'. His mouth opened in astonishment. This was the symbol—exactly. How could Sara have figured it out so quickly?

He looked up at her, but she appeared distracted. "What does it mean?" he prompted.

She sighed. "It means I have to talk to James."

Sara entered the coffee shop and immediately spotted James at a table. She was relieved that he'd found the place. Grissom had allowed her to leave earlier partly out of concern for her, and partly because she was impatient to talk to him.

A quick smile came to James' lips when he saw her. He rose to his feet and hugged her, and she felt some of the tension that had accumulated in the past hours leave her body. Jamy's presence had always been soothing.

They sat, facing each other.

"Everything okay?"

It was only the fourth time she'd been asked that tonight, and she gave James the same response she'd given Grissom earlier. "Not really…"

"Rough case?"

His voice was gentle, compassionate, but Sara didn't immediately answer. She tried to decipher what was going on in his green eyes, but in the end, she simply asked.

"Jamy… What made you come to Vegas?"

He was about to answer when the waitress came to take their order. After she left, he said, "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I came because I missed you." Sara smiled, but slowly shook her head. "Seriously," he continued, "I missed you, Lya. I often regret that we can't see each other more often, but…" His gaze darkened. "Sara…When was the last time you heard from Patrick?"

Sara's eyes widened in surprise. She'd been expecting some questions, but not this one. She frowned as she tried to remember the last time she'd seen him, or heard from him. She shook her head. "I don't know. Probably not since he moved to a foster home. We were what, twelve, thirteen?..."

James nodded. "I haven't heard from him since either."

Sara recalled that she and James had searched for him for a while. One member of their inseparable trio had been taken away from then, and naturally they wanted to keep in touch with their friend. But nothing came of their search. They were only kids at the time, which limited their research capabilities. Sara also recalled having more pressing problems back then. It had been a trying year for her…

Shaking off a wave of uneasiness, she looked at her friend. "James, do you know why I found our sign etched into a dead woman's body last night?" His gaze darkened even further, a sign that what he had to tell her wouldn't be pleasant.

"There have been six victims, Sara, seven with yours. I've been tracking him for six months," he continued. "He fits the serial killer profile."

"But…" she began, her voice shaking, "how did you know he'd come to Vegas."

James shook his head and leaned forward over the table. "That's pure coincidence, Lya. I came to Vegas because you're personally involved in this…as I am."

Sara swallowed painfully. The waitress came with their coffee, but neither of them touched it. "Why do you think that?" she asked huskily, but she suspected what he was going to say before he said it.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his blond hair. "For starters, our symbol is etched into each of his victims. No one, except for the three of us, knows about this sign. Unless one of us talked about it…"

"I never did. In fact, I'd completely forgotten about it until tonight."

James nodded, understanding. "I'm not surprised you forgot given what happened to you the day we did this…"

Sara shuddered. It was true. That was the night her mother—

"I agree that the symbol thing is strange, but what makes you think we're directly involved?"

"His victims alternate between males and females. He kills a woman, then a man, and so on. We tried to find a commonality between the victims, other than the fact that they were all killed on a Thursday night and they were all single."

"And what do they have in common?" asked Sara after a beat.

"The three male victims were born on February 4th, 1971; the three women on September 16th, 1971." That information shook Sara to her core, and she closed her eyes. These were their birth dates, hers and James'. Opening her eyes, she met James' serious gaze. "I'm sure your victim has the same birthday."

She had always trusted James, and still did. But she needed to confirm what he was saying. This was way too serious to jump to conclusions. She took out her cell phone and dialed Grissom. He picked up after two rings.

"Grissom."

"Hey, it's Sara. Uh, I'm sorry to bother you, but I have a very important question for you."

Judging by the beat of silence, he was surprised to hear from her, probably worried about the reason for her call as well. But finally, he said, "Okay, I'm listening."

"Would you take a look at the Jessica Lown file and give me her birth date?"

While they waited, James nonchalantly stirred his coffee, evidently not doubting for a moment the information she was about to receive.

"Jessica Lown," she heard Grissom say after a brief moment, "birth date, September 16th, 1971." Sara closed her eyes once again and stroked her forehead. "Isn't that your birthday?" Grissom asked, surprised.

"Yes." Sara was too devastated to note the fact that Grissom knew her birth date.

"Is it relevant?"

"I'm afraid so. I'll call you later. Thanks, Grissom."

She didn't wait for his response. She hung up and stared absently at the phone. James gave her a few moments to recuperate then dropped his spoon. The sound of the utensil hitting the table shook her back to the present, and she stared at him. He looked as worried as she felt.

"You know, Lya," he finally said. "I think Patrick is pissed at us."

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N_** : At this time of the year, we all feel like sharing.  
For example, **Danie** is sharing with me her amazing talent, and sent to me the chapter 3. All happy, I'm sharing it with you :) :) :) And of course, I thank you all for giving so much joy with your reviews and comments. My mom is kind of worried now, 'cause I have this crazy smile on my lips for almost a week now. You are just the best Santas in the world :) Merry Christmas to you all !!

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Action

**_Pairing _**: GSR

**_Raiting_ **: T

**_Disclaimer_** : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_Spoilers_** : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

**SUMMARY** : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

**

* * *

**

Deadly Neglect

* * *

Chaptre Three  


There was a nervous knot in Sara's stomach as she approached Grissom's office. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure James was still with her. His lips curled up and he shook his head at her as though asking, "Where else would I be?"

At his door, Sara inhaled deeply and knocked. It wasn't the first time she'd felt an assault of nerves at the prospect of having a conversation with Grissom, but this time was different. She wasn't about to spill that she'd come to Vegas to be near him, or make other such confessions… She was a nervous wreck because she had to tell him that Jessica Lown's killer was a serial killer who was killing because of her.

"Yes?" Grissom said from inside.

She pushed open the door and smiled over-brightly. "Hey, Grissom. Uh…you have a minute?"

Argh. Why did this opening remind her of the beginning of the more private conversation they'd had a few months ago? But as usual, he didn't seem overly concerned—obviously not sharing her impression of déjà vu—as he smiled at her.

"Of course."

Sara shot him another improvised smile and walked in with James close on her heels. Strangely, all trace of a smile left Grissom's lips and he frowned. Sara tried not to read anything into it; for one, she'd long ago stopped hoping for anything from Grissom, and two, it was an inappropriate time to start speculating about their relationship.

James greeted him amicably. "Good morning, Mr. Grissom."

"MacDouglas," he said, nodding lightly in response, and then added a touch too coldly, "What's the problem?"

_James is right. Grissom really doesn't like him. _Andit was the last thing she needed under the circumstances. It didn't actually set the stage for what she had to tell him. But she couldn't let his behavior lead her off course. After all, it wasn't as though he'd never addressed her just as coldly.

She sat in the chair in front of his desk while James held back in the office doorway. She hesitated, not knowing where to begin until Grissom urged her on with an encouraging look.

"Uh… Okay, what I have to tell you is that…" she took a breath, "…remember why I called you this morning?"

He nodded. "You wanted to know Jessica Lown's birthday. Which," he added, "is the same as yours."

Sara nodded, and hesitated again, biting her bottom lip. _Go ahead, it's not as though this is really your fault._

"And when you asked me whether it was relevant, I told you that it was." He was frowning as though wondering where she was going with this, and she was mentally kicking herself for giving him a summary of a conversation he could recall as well as she did. "What I'm trying to tell you, in a clumsy way, is that the situation is very serious."

James had come in to stand next her, no doubt sensing she needed his support.

"In a nutshell," he injected, "Sara and I are the target of a serial killer."

He handed the case file to Grissom.

* * *

Gil remained calm. He had listened to Sara's clumsy explanation, heard MacDouglas' opinion, had quickly leafed through the case file, glanced at some of the crime scene photos and abruptly closed the folder. He agreed that it was disquieting, but chose not to jump to conclusions until he knew more. He asked Sara and MacDouglas to follow him to the conference room where the rest of the team was waiting for that night's assignments. He was in control of the situation.

His CSIs were all there, and after a few greetings they looked curiously at MacDouglas.

"This is Agent MacDouglas," Gil said abruptly. "He's going to be helping out with our case."

They must have sensed the time wasn't right to ask questions for they each in turn launched into an update of their current cases. He gave Nick and Catherine a new assignment, and sent them on their way.

With only the three of them left in the room, he sighed heavily. "Okay," he told them. "Give me the rest of it."

Sara and her friend traded a quick look, and then MacDouglas reached out for his file and laid it on the table, opening it.

"A little over six months ago, in March of 2005, I was assigned to a murder case," he started, leafing through the folder as he spoke. "It was a difficult case. The victim, a thirty-three year old woman, had been mutilated. Her eyes and tongue had been ripped out, her ears and fingertips severed, except for the right index finger. The cause of death was stabbing, twice in the abdomen. The victim had been propped up and bound by her hands to a bedpost, but she hadn't been raped."

He slid a crime scene photo of the young woman across the table to Gil. His stomach knotted at the similarities with his own scene the night before. He looked at Sara. Her eyes were glued to the picture, her face deathly pale.

MacDouglas continued. "During the autopsy, the coroner noticed a strange mark behind the woman's left knee, some kind of symbol. I won't lie to you; that symbol was familiar to me, but I'll come back to that later."

Gil's uneasiness grew. Given how quickly Sara had been able to recreate the symbol, it had been familiar to her as well. It explained why she had been in a hurry to speak to the man that morning.

MacDouglas handed him another photo, a close-up of the symbol in question. It was the same.

"We didn't have much to go on," he continued. "We called in a CSI team from Los Angeles, but they couldn't do much with the little evidence we had. A month later, in April 2005, I was assigned another murder case, this time of a thirty-four year old man. He had also suffered mutilations of the eyes, ears, tongue, and fingers, but that's where the similarities ended. He was killed in his kitchen, throat slit. Despite the similarities between the two murders, I didn't immediately think that I was dealing with a serial killer because the victims were not the same sex and they were killed differently."

New photograph: a brown-haired man, lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. Mutilated. MacDouglas continued. "But when we found the same symbol on the back of the man's left knee, I became suspicious.

"May: thirty-three year old woman, brown hair; bound, stabbed, mutilated. June: thirty-four year old man, light brown hair, in his kitchen, slit throat, mutilated. July: again a woman, this time a red head; same CD, same MO, same signature as the female victims from March and May. And finally, in August, three weeks ago: brown-haired man, same birthday as the other two, same MO and signature."

MacDouglas had punctuated each case by slapping a picture of the victim on the table. By June, Sara had lowered herself into a chair, shaken, her head between her hands. Gil wanted set her mind at ease, but in truth, he wasn't feeling very well either. He swallowed and met MacDouglas' cold, sober gaze.

Gil had many questions for him, and now struggled to prioritize them in his mind. "But…," he began, "Once you knew you were dealing with a serial killer, why didn't it make the news?"

MacDouglas shook his head. "Of course, each murder was reported in the papers, but they never made the front page. The MO is too complex for the media. Their definition of a serial killer is someone who targets a particular type of victim and executes the crime in the same fashion. Nonetheless, this is one. He alternates between men and women, but his method of killing is identical for each sex."

Sara sat up straight, but the slight tremor in her voice when she spoke was proof that she was still shaken. "Why does he leave the right index?" Her eyes were bright with unshed tears; she looked angry and confused.

Gil hated to see her that way.

MacDouglas lowered his eyes to her. "Our experts wondered the same thing for a while." His voice had softened and filled with concern when he spoke to her. "The only logical explanation we have is that he wants us to be able to take the victim's fingerprints."

That surprised Gil. It sounded like something they might have pulled from thin air, but as he thought about it… "It's provocation." He looked at MacDouglas. "He wants to make sure we know that none of the prints found at the scene are his."

MacDouglas nodded, seemingly impressed that he'd come to that conclusion so quickly. "However, we have yet to explain the other mutilations. They obviously mean something to him, but we can't figure out what."

"I agree that you're dealing with a serial killer," Gil said. "But what makes you think that he's after you and Sara?" The two exchanged another glance and Gil sensed that the more complicated aspect of the case had yet to be revealed. It was Sara who spoke.

"First, the birth dates. All female victims, including Jessica Lown, were born September 16th, 1971. Like me. And the men were born the same day as James, February 4th, 1971."

_Okay, that's strange… _"I agree, it's a hell of a coincidence, but you're not the only people to have been born on those dates," he softly replied.

In lieu of an explanation, James slid another picture over to Grissom—that of the symbol.

"I agree with you, Mr. Grissom. But how many people born on those dates carry the same symbol on the back of their left knee?"

If MacDouglas had intended to stun Gil into silence, he'd succeeded. After a few seconds of jaw dropping astonishment, his wide gaze automatically found Sara's. "You have that sign on the back of your left knee?"

She nodded, and understanding that the scientist in him would want proof, she left her chair and raised her left pant leg up over her knee.

Gil crouched behind her. By squinting he managed to find the symbol, no more than a small whitish scar now. Forgetting himself, he stroked it gently with the tip of his finger and felt Sara shiver in response. Realizing how ambiguous this gesture may seem to her, he quickly removed his hand and stood, feeling the heat of the moment lightly flush his cheeks. _This is not the time, Gil…_

Clearing his throat, he turned to MacDouglas. "And…you have one as well?" The man nodded but didn't offer to show it to him. But it raised more questions. "Can I ask how you both ended up with this symbol, and why you're so sure that it concerns only the two of you?"

Sara resumed her seat and gently stroked her temples, as though soothing the beginnings of a headache. "When we were kids, we had a friend named Patrick Miller. We were an inseparable trio for nine years. Until we turned thirteen. We created this symbol as an identifying mark of sorts for our group. Not long before we were separated, we decided to carve it on our body. So we could remember each other…"

She quickly shook her head, grimacing as if remembering something particularly painful. "That year wasn't a very good one for me and Patrick." Looking at MacDouglas, she added, "I think you were the only one spared from a crazy family, Jamy." She gave him a small smile devoid of humor.

"Watching my two best friends suffer wasn't exactly a riot, you know," he returned softly.

A pinprick of jealousy skewered Gil's heart, surprising him. He was beginning to like MacDouglas—he'd proven to be an intelligent, serious man—but right then, he envied his close relationship with Sara. Yet, he had also been close to her once upon a time. _And I ruined it by cutting myself off from her… _And now, he could feel the powerful bond between her and MacDouglas and it was making him nuts in a way he couldn't even explain.

He had to keep his cool; focus on the case.

"So you think that Patrick Miller is the serial killer?"

Faces sobering, they both nodded.

"But… Why?"

"We had promised to always be friends; to never let go of each other," Sara said in a small voice. "That year, Patrick was placed in a foster home. He wasn't as fortunate as me. They sent him out of town, probably out of State. We tried to find him for a while, but we were kids; we really couldn't do much. And then, other things happened. Time passed…"

He assumed she wanted to say, _'I forgot'_ but didn't dare. He couldn't blame her. He suspected that the other 'things' she mentioned were her own problems with her family. Her mother stabbing her father. His heart clenched painfully at the thought that she had trusted him enough to share her most painful secret with him, and that he had, in a way, destroyed that trust by sleeping with Sofia. _You're a fool, Gil._

"I had a hard time believing that Patrick had killed all these people," MacDouglas continued, snapping Gil out of his thoughts. "But the more I thought about it and remembered things from our childhood, I realized it was possible. Patrick was brought up in an unhealthy environment. His mother was an alcoholic and he had a new step-father every two months; they weren't angels. Patrick was a very intelligent kid—very intelligent. His mother never would have thought of testing his IQ, but I'm convinced he would classify as a genius."

Sara absently nodded. "I remember. But he could behave…strangely. Excessive behavior, sometimes violent. He was a lunatic. He could be all smiles one minute and the next blow up in a fit of anger. He would sometimes go off in a rage over a bruise on my face… He often said that he wanted to kill my father…"

Listening to her speak of the mistreatment she suffered as a child filled Gil with more empathy than ever for her. And something else…a surge of pride for her courage, especially for her work and the cases that likely made her relive the darkest moments of her life. Today more than ever.

"He's the one who insisted we carve the symbol on our bodies," MacDouglas continued. "He was adamant that our relationship should withstand the test of time. He never wanted other friends, in fact, wouldn't like it if we tried to play with anyone else. He was very possessive. So…it's possible that he's mad at us for not finding him."

Gil thought of his victims and the fact that Sara was his intended target, and vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe.

* * *

"_Listen, I had a great idea last night."_

_As they had every Thursday for two years, Sara, James, and Patrick had met in their secret hiding place. Actually, it wasn't much of a hiding place since it was out in the open, but it was their meeting place. It was at the top of a half-abandoned building, one of the tallest in their neighborhood. They would climb the fire escape to the roof, which would take them a good ten minutes to do, six minutes if they ran up, and once up there, they were free._

_They had a golden rule. If for whatever reason they couldn't meet in a given week, they had to make an effort to get there for one hour on Thursday afternoons, between four and five o'clock, or longer if possible. It was a risk, but they needed that moment of détente no matter what their parents would say or do afterwards, because for an hour, they would have been together, the three of them, to reaffirm their friendship._

_That Thursday afternoon of September 1983, they were on their roof, and Patrick had told them he'd had an idea._

"_I hope it's not another idea that ends up getting us in trouble," Sara teased._

_Patrick shook his head, his expression extremely serious. Sara's smile died on her lips. When Patrick made that face, it was that he was about to say something profound. She glanced at James, and saw that he was also wondering what Patrick was up to._

_Patrick looked at each of them in turn. "We're the best friends in the whole world, right?"_

"_Of course," Sara said, nodding._

"_Friends for life!" James affirmed with a grin._

_Patrick finally relaxed and he too smiled, and then dug into the inside pocket of his jacket to retrieve a…scalpel. Sara froze and felt James stiffening at her side. _What the hell was he doing with that? _she wondered, slightly alarmed._

"_Then we have to have something to always remember each other by. That way we'll never forget to call or go see each other. See what I mean?"_

_Sara nodded lightly. She knew Patrick would get upset if they didn't play along, and looking at the thing in his hand, she didn't particularly want to set him off. James seemed to feel the same way._

"_Okay! We're going to carve our sign on our bodies, that way we'll be linked for life."_

_Sara wasn't really thrilled with the word 'carve'. She had enough marks on her body thanks to her father, the last thing she needed was a carving. "Uh…Pat, I'm all for not forgetting each other, but I don't think we should—"_

"_Lya," he interrupted. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I read a lot of medical books and learned how to use one of these."_

_She didn't dare ask what he'd practiced on._

_James intervened. "That's not the point, Pat. It's just—don't you find that over the top?"_

_Patrick frowned. "I thought we were friends. Friends trust each other."_

"_Of course, we trust you!" exclaimed Sara._

"_Then, let's do it. It won't even hurt."_

_Sara would have protested, but she didn't want to fight with Patrick. He and James were the only friends she had and she wouldn't risk that for anything. Finally, she said, "Okay, let's do it."_

_Patrick smiled then looked at James._

_He glanced at Sara, and then at the scalpel. "Fine. I say we do it, too."_

_Patrick grinned widely. "All right! We need to do pick a secret spot so we're the only ones who know where it is. I say we do it behind the knee."_

_They all agreed and James went first. He didn't even flinch when Patrick traced their symbol on his skin and Sara thought he was very brave. It was her turn next. Patrick hadn't lied. He knew how to use the thing. After he was done, she soaked up the blood with a tissue so it wouldn't stain her pants._

_Patrick couldn't do himself, so Sara agreed to do it. She had never used a scalpel, but Patrick told her it wasn't hard. She pressed the point against his skin and started to trace the J, not liking the sensation of the blade cutting through skin. And she hated the sight of the blood dripping from a wound she was inflicting, but she tried to ignore it as she finished the job._

_She would be seeing a lot more blood later that night._

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N_** : Again, all my gratitude goes to **Danie**, who's really doing a wonderful job with the translation, and to you all, guys!! Thank you _SO_ so much for all the amazing reviews and comments. You're just making my days, no kidding :)

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Action

**_Pairing _**: GSR

**_Raiting_ **: T

**_Disclaimer_** : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_Spoilers_** : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

**SUMMARY** : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

**

* * *

**

Deadly Neglect

* * *

Chapter Four  


"Are you okay? Holding on?"

Sara smiled at James, but didn't answer. What else could she do but hold on? Lock herself in her apartment? Weep? No. That wasn't what she did. She had to move, to act. She had to fight the guilt that had begun eating at her earlier and which was now slowly consuming her. Why should she feel guilty?

_Because I'm in part responsible for the death of several people._

The usual 'Ifs' resonated in her mind. _If_ she had made more of an effort to find Patrick… _If_ she had tried to understand his problems when they were kids… _If_ she hadn't forgotten him… But these 'Ifs' didn't solve anything; they only emphasized her regrets.

She suspected that James felt the same way. The fact that he was dragging on a cigarette was a good indication of it. James only smoked when he was frustrated, stressed, nervous, or frightened. And tonight, he likely felt a mixture of all those things. When he'd said twenty minutes earlier that he needed some air, Sara had watched him leave feeling very much the same way.

"You can go too," Grissom had gently told her. "I have to go talk to Ecklie."

She had followed James outside and surprised him lighting a cigarette.

Avoiding his question, she half-jokingly, half-seriously said, "You know that smoking will kill you."

James shrugged and slowly exhaled. "In light of how rarely I fill my vital organs with tar, statistically I'm more likely to be murdered by a serial killer than to die from lung cancer."

Despite the cheekiness of his response, he couldn't hide his frustration behind the sarcasm. Sara doubted he had planned to add to her distress, nonetheless, that was the result as she froze, a ghastly shiver traveling up her spine.

_He could kill us. He could kill us both._

Noting her milky white complexion, James flicked his cigarette to the ground and drew her into a comforting hug. "I'm sorry, Lya," he murmured in her ear. "I shouldn't have said that."

Surrounded by the warmth of his arms, Sara felt herself relax, but she couldn't shake her anxiety. She turned her face into his shoulder. "What are we going to do, Jamy?"

He strengthened his hold on her and gently kissed her hair. "I can promise you that we'll do everything in our power to nab him before he kills again."

'_Before he kills us,'_ she thought.

"Ahem… Excuse me."

The two friends lifted their heads and turned their gaze on the new arrival. Grissom was standing in the doorway, watching them with a strange expression on his face. Almost as a reflex, Sara tore out of James' arms and wiped the moisture off her cheek. She didn't dare look directly at Grissom as he approached them.

"I… uh… talked to Ecklie," he finally said, and only then did Sara look up, meeting his gaze.

As usual, he'd already hidden his feelings, and while that would have normally frustrated her, she was too distraught over the dangerous situation they were in to let her boss's behavior get to her. Still, she couldn't miss the strange light in Grissom's eyes when he looked at James.

"I explained the situation to him," he continued. "He was skeptical at first, but the evidence finally convinced him. He wants to solve this before news of it spreads. He's concerned about how it would affect the reputation of the lab."

This didn't surprise Sara. There was nothing more important to Ecklie than his job and the reputation of the lab. He'd astonished her once when Nick was kidnapped by using every possible means to find him.

"He's authorized me to put two more people on the case. I'll get Catherine and Warrick to help. Ecklie will transfer someone from days to help Nick and Greg with the rest of the workload until we close this case."

Sara wanted to ask why Ecklie hadn't assigned the entire team to the case given that her life was now in danger, but she dismissed the question. It was hardly the time to question the animosity that existed between her and the assistant director, on top of which, she suspected that had this happened last year, he would have told her to deal with it herself. This was an improvement…

"Okay," she finally said. "What's the plan?"

"I called everyone back for an emergency meeting. I'm also waiting for the dayshift CSI to get here."

"You don't have to wait any longer, Gil," came a female voice behind them.

Sara didn't have to turn around to know whose voice it was, but she did anyway. Sofia Curtis. What awful thing could she have done in this lifetime to deserve this? _Other than forget a childhood friend._ She'd never killed anyone, had never stolen anything; she paid her taxes, worked hard, then what? It wasn't enough that her former best friend was a serial killer and would probably try to kill her as well, Sofia Curtis had to come stick her nose in her business!

_I am cursed._

She drew on every ounce of self-control she possessed. _Keep your cool. You don't have to smile at her—but don't cry either. Look at her like she's a walking piece of trash if you must, but remain calm._

But Sofia wasn't paying attention to Sara; her eyes were on someone else, behind her, a small annoying smile playing on her lips.

"Good evening, Sofia," she heard Grissom say, a note of surprise in his voice which he quickly masked, as usual.

"Given the time, I think you mean good morning," she countered, her smile widening.

Sara's jaw clenched further and she looked away, refusing to see any more.

"Uh… you already know Sara," said Grissom. "This is James MacDouglas from the FBI office in LA. He's here to help."

"Good morning." James greeted her politely but without an ounce of friendliness. Normally much more cordial, Sara figured he'd picked up on her feelings toward the other woman and responded in kind.

"Welcome to Las Vegas," Sofia replied.

Sara closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at James. "See you in the conference room," she said evenly and then, without so much as a glance in Grissom's direction, pushed on the door and went inside.

* * *

Sara was again careful to avoid his gaze when she joined them in the conference room a few minutes later. Gil would have been lying if he'd pretended not to understand the reason behind the distance she was putting between them. But he had to admit that he was equally uncomfortable.

It never occurred to him that Ecklie would send Sofia. The case and the danger Sara found herself in had been preoccupying him all night so that when he talked to Ecklie, he wasn't thinking about Sofia or the fact that she was a member of day shift, thus a potential candidate to help Nick and Greg. Her sudden and unexpected appearance, not to mention finding himself in the same room with the woman he was sleeping with and the woman who'd always had an astonishing emotional hold on him, was toying with his concentration.

Sara wasn't the last to arrive. Warrick and Greg had yet to show, but the rest of the team including MacDouglas and Sofia were there. Ecklie was also present.

Warrick finally walked in with Greg in tow and apologized for being late. "We were following a lead…you know what that's like."

Gil nodded, and immediately launched into his briefing. "First of all, thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know this is unusual, but as it turns out, the case Sara and I are working is much more complicated than we anticipated and it touches us personally.

The CSIs exchanged intrigued looks; some worried, but Sara kept her eyes downcast.

"In order to solve this case as quickly as possible, we need to do a team reassignment," Gil continued. "Warrick and Catherine, you'll work with us. Nick and Greg, Sofia will be helping you with the rest of the workload."

Gil noticed the surprised looks; Warrick looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Uh…Grissom, I know you don't like us to question your decisions in these situations, and I'm really not trying to negotiate, but we're at a critical stage in the store robbery/murder. If you're not going to pull everyone off their case, couldn't you arrange it so I keep mine?"

Warrick was right. He didn't appreciate him questioning his decision, and call it what he wanted, he was negotiating with him. He started to answer, but Sofia cut him off.

"He's right, Grissom. Warrick should continue working his case with Nick and Greg and I could help you. I prefer a challenge anyway."

Okay, this wasn't good. It was bad. His gaze slid over to Sara and he found her looking back at him. She stared as though pleading with him to do something.

"Sofia, I know you're a very good CSI, but in this case I'd rather—"

"I think it's an excellent idea," interrupted Ecklie. "As you said yourself, Gil, this case is personal; having someone not so directly involved on it would be beneficial. Brown, you'll stay with Sanders and Stokes. Willows and Curtis, you're going to help Grissom, Sidle and Agent MacDouglas. Get to work."

With that he left them in stunned silence.

_This is very bad,_ thought Gil, and the beginnings of a migraine pounding his skull seemed a presage of worse things to come.

* * *

When Ecklie left the room, Sara had to control an urge to pound her head on the table. How could this have happened? The last two people she wanted to share her personal problems with were Catherine and Sofia.

She'd never really gotten along with Catherine. They'd gone through periods of quiet indifference, but had also had some pretty charged moments. Their 'quarrel' last year, which had landed her in Ecklie's office and led to a suspension, hadn't helped their relationship. Sara later realized that she had overreacted but she couldn't help it. Domestic abuse cases always put her on edge, and that one was no exception. As she'd told Ecklie in no uncertain terms, she had not apologized to Catherine, but she hadn't tried to take anything back either. Their relationship in the past months had been somewhat friendly, but Sara knew that Catherine had never really forgiven her. And for that reason, the prospect of laying a big part of her life bare to her wasn't making her day.

But her aversion to having to reveal her most painful secrets was multiplied by a hundred, no, by a thousand, at the mere thought of Sofia.

During the months they had worked together, Sofia, Greg, Grissom, and her, Sara had made an effort to be friendly toward the other woman, even if it had been difficult. She had to admit that the jealousy she felt whenever Sofia was around Grissom didn't help. She had quickly picked up on the sexual attraction between Grissom and Sofia, and that had deeply hurt at the time. How could she not be hurt when the man she had loved for years was exchanging flirtatious smiles with another woman? When Ecklie brought their team back together, she'd felt relieved. Her work was emotionally draining enough without having to throw heartache into the mix.

She didn't have to dwell on how much more potent her pain had been yesterday when she heard Greg and Warrick speak of Grissom and Sofia as a couple.

So, yeah, to know that that— would be working with her, for the length of this difficult case was making her crazy. She felt like throwing up, or leaving the room just so she wouldn't have to hear another word out of that woman's mouth.

And Sofia was yapping because for the last few minutes Grissom and James had been briefing her and Catherine on the case. Sara was no help. She hadn't uttered a word since the beginning of the meeting, limiting her participation to nodding when she felt a confirmation of facts was necessary.

She abhorred feeling this emotionally weak.

"We'll split up," Grissom said when they'd concluded their briefing and all questions had been answered. "Catherine and Sofia, I want you to go back to the crime scene and look for anything we may have missed. Meanwhile, Sara, MacDouglas, and I will try to learn more about Patrick Miller."

Sara watched in horror as Sofia opened her mouth to protest, but a pointed look from Grissom discouraged her from speaking her mind. She would have thanked him, silently, if yesterday's anger hadn't resurfaced.

"Okay," said Catherine as she rose to her feet. "We'll call you if we find anything."

Half a minute later, Catherine and Sofia had left and Sara was beginning to feel better. She had felt, and hated, the women's prying eyes on her as Grissom and James explained the situation. She hoped that they'd have enough time to get it all out behind her back so she wouldn't have to suffer their curious glances on their return.

A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts. It was James, staring at her, his gaze full of worry.

"Are you feeling okay?"

She managed a smile. "Yes," she answered unsteadily. "It's all a bit…much," she admitted with a vague hand gesture at the turn of events.

"Shift ends in an hour and a half," said Grissom softly. "I'll understand if you want to go home and get some rest."

Sara looked up at him. He also looked worried. _I'm not worried, I'm concerned._ Those words, spoken a long time ago, came back to her and her heart clenched anew. Yes, she could see that he was concerned about her. But why? Why did it have to be this way? _Why did you do this to me?_ she wanted to shout. But she wouldn't. She hated him, but unfortunately, she also loved him.

She shook her head in refusal. "You already let me leave early yesterday; it will end up being a problem for you. Anyway, I'm too involved in this investigation to take off," she told him in a tone that would brook no argument.

He looked at her for a long moment and then finally nodded. "Very well. We need a computer."

A few minutes later, in the computer room, James was pounding on the keyboard. "I already researched Patrick in LA." He connected to the Internet and retrieved a file. A newspaper page loaded on the screen. The headline read, '_Teenager brutally murders step-father.'_

Sara skimmed through the article… _Ted Evans was brutally murdered last night… had just been released from jail after serving a five-year sentence for pedophilia… Patrick Miller, his stepson and last victim before his incarceration, has disappeared… Evans' neighbors identified the young man from photographs…_

"Ted Evans was incarcerated in November 1983," James explained. "He was released in December 1988, ten days before Patrick turned eighteen. He was murdered a week after his release. His neighbors saw Patrick leave the building with his clothes covered in blood and called the cops. We have no doubt that Patrick wanted people to know that he'd committed the murder since he left his wallet and his IDs at the scene. The police put out an APB, but he was never found, and he hasn't resurfaced since. Some think he was killed, others think he changed his identity and left the country. Given what we know now, I'm leaning toward the latter."

Sara was surprised by this information. She was not aware that her childhood friend had committed murder when he was seventeen. James opened another page in the file. It contained information about Patrick's childhood.

"I finally found out where he was sent when he was thirteen. No wonder we couldn't find him, Sara. He moved every month. _'Unwilling to adapt' _is what the psychologists said. They also noted Patrick's high IQ and his ability to learn. Unfortunately, he didn't use his abilities to try to assimilate into society. He was always running away; the last time was in December 1988 when Ted Evans was released from prison. He then disappeared from the face of the Earth."

This information was far from reassuring. They now knew that Patrick was in Las Vegas, but who was he?

* * *

Judy had always taken her receptionist job seriously, and she was proud to work in one of the best labs in the country. She was professional and attentive to callers. Of course, some of these callers had a sick sense of humor, but she'd learned to quickly identify a prank call. At times, the calls were strange and disturbing, and she liked those the least. But she had to handle them. It was her job after all.

"Las Vegas Crime Lab, how may I help you?"

She frowned as she listened to the caller. This was no hoax; what she heard was turning her blood to ice. Obeying the mystery caller's demands, she grabbed her pen and started to write.

* * *

Gil removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease his migraine. But of course, it wouldn't.

What MacDouglas had just told them about Patrick Miller was disturbing. This dangerous criminal was running around Las Vegas and they had no way of identifying him. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty; a half hour from end of shift and all he wanted to do was go home, take his pills, and sleep. Sleep so he could stop thinking. But at the moment, that wasn't an option.

He was punch-drunk on the events of the last twelve hours. He was no super hero; there were limits to what his nerves could take and he had already reached his emotional quota for the next month.

Someone obviously disagreed.

A soft knock had all three of them turning toward the door. One look at Judy's pale complexion told Gil that something had happened.

"What is it, Judy?"

Eyes riveted on Sara, she slowly approached him and handed him a piece of paper. "I just received an anonymous call, sir. He asked me to write this down and give it to you."

Gil frowned and grasped the note. Slipping on his glasses, he read aloud:

"_Mr. Grissom,_

_I hope you enjoyed the corpse I left you. She was a pleasant woman and very nice to talk to. Well, to be honest, I did most of the talking. All she did was sob. But I can guarantee that when her turn comes, Sara won't be sobbing._

_Give her my love. James, too while you're at it. I would tell them myself, but I doubt they're that interested in what became of me. Or should I say, they weren't interested? Something tells me that I am suddenly very much on their minds. Tell them for me that they'll know everything they want to know in due time._

_After that, you can pick up their bloody bodies._

_Pat." _

Slowly, Gil lifted his head and his eyes locked with Sara's.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N_** : Thanks so much to **Danie**, for the awesome translation and pace!! And also for pointing out some of my silly mistakes in the plot, and for correcting them, she's really the best :) And you all guys rock, thanks again and again for all the reviews and comments!! Happy New Year everyone :)

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Action

**_Pairing _**: GSR

**_Raiting_ **: T

**_Disclaimer_** : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_Spoilers_** : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

**SUMMARY** : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

**

* * *

**

Deadly Neglect

* * *

Chapter Five  


_Not even the deafening sound of the sirens could draw Sara from her trance. Her eyes were open wide with fear, but she wasn't really aware of what was happening around her. Rational thought abandoned her at the second stab of the knife, when she felt a warm, gooey liquid squirt on her face. So she wasn't aware of the racket going on outside, barely flinched when the front door burst open in an explosion of split wood, or when several people entered the dark room moments later._

_And suddenly, a man flicked on the switch and shed light on the gruesome scene. For the first time in long, long minutes, Sara blinked, blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Once, twice, then three times… Each bat of her eyelids bringing her closer to reality…_

_The first thing she noticed was the smell. A strong odor of iron and something else that made her stomach queasy. The sound of someone throwing up … she wasn't the only one with a weak stomach. But she doubted the odor alone was responsible for it._

_Sara was slowly reconnecting with reality, but much of what was going on was still hazy in her brain. She noticed the dark, red fluid all over the floor. She also made out a massive bulk on the floor no more than three feet from her, almost completely covered in this same fluid; in fact, it seemed to originate from it. Certain details became clearer; things that helped her reconnect and understand that it was her father on the floor. And her mother lying prone next to her husband, also covered in that red fluid. Sara had somewhat disconnected from reality, but her mother seemed completely out of it. She didn't react when a man cuffed her, or when he started to deliver an official-sounding speech, barely making it to the end, his gaze transfixed on the scene._

_Those men with the dark suits finally left the room; the younger one whose stomach seemed to have settled followed them. Then more people came in; two of the men were dressed in white. One of them touched her father's body—his arm, his wrist, as though looking for something, but taking in the man's expression, Sara knew he didn't expect to find anything. _

_The other one looked around and his eyes fell on Sara. _

_He moved so quickly that in her foggy state, Sara startled when he fell to his knees in front of her. He reached for her and she reflexively flinched, so he stopped dropped his hand and then spoke to her in a slow, gentle voice._

"_My name is Matthew; I'm a paramedic and I'm here to help you. Can you tell me your name?"_

_Sara blinked again, taking in what he was saying. She saw the sincerity in his eyes. He was telling her the truth. He wanted to help her._

"_Sara," she murmured in a small voice._

"_Very well, Sara. As I said, I'm here to help you and for that, I need to know if you're injured. Do you hurt anywhere?"_

_She slowly shook her head. Her body was numb, how could she tell if anything hurt?_

"_Are you sure? Sara, can you remove your hand from your neck so I can see?"_

_Her hand from her neck? She was surprised to realize that her left hand was pressed against the right side of her neck. As she tried to relax her fingers and remove her hand, she suddenly remembered the knife and realized why she was holding her neck. Matthew must have quickly understood that most of the blood soaking her clothes wasn't her own. He said that it wasn't deep and that she wouldn't need stitches, and then he cleaned the wound and bandaged it. _

_She wouldn't remember leaving the apartment and getting into the ambulance. On the way to the hospital, Matthew cleaned the blood from her face while speaking to her with a gentle voice. He spoke of his family, told her his wife's name, his kids', their cat's…'Pinky'. Sara only half listened to him, but his voice was soothing._

_At the hospital, a man and a woman wearing dark uniforms, cops, Sara thought, took over and she didn't see Matthew again. They made her sit down in a waiting room and the female cop explained to her that for the moment, no one could look after her, but that a social worker would come and get her the next morning. She told her to behave and stay there for the time being. She said other things to make Sara feel that she wasn't a burden, but she wasn't really listening anymore. She only nodded and stayed quiet._

_An hour, then two, went by. People came and went in a fog. Sara didn't like hospitals. She often came here with her parents. Before. And those visits were never pleasant. "I hit myself… I feel down the stairs…I slipped…" Lies, Lies…_

_There were many injured people in the waiting room and Sara could smell the same odor of iron she'd smelled at home earlier. She wasn't feeling well; she felt like she was going to throw up, like she did when she rode roller-coasters, or when she ate too much chocolate cake that Pat would bring to their hiding place on Thursdays. But she didn't want to ask the male officer who had stayed with her to bring her to the bathroom. She didn't want to talk to him because if she did, she would empty her stomach in public. So she kept very still in the uncomfortable chair, her hands on her knees, her eyes focused on the floor, ignoring the voices and the sobbing around her; and she focused on her breathing so she wouldn't throw up._

"_Sara!"_

_She heard the familiar voice and looked up. A nurse was in front of her looking surprised and worried. It took her only a few seconds to recognize the woman. It was Lisa MacDouglas, James' mother. She recalled now that she was a nurse and that she worked nights at the hospital. She had seen her before when she and Pat would go over to James' house. Sara would tell her parents that she was going to a girlfriend's to play…_

_Sara liked James' mother. She'd always been nice to her, and she was brave to bring up a daughter and a son on her own. Once, Mrs. MacDouglas had seen Sara and her parents at the hospital, but Sara had begged with her eyes to not come and talk to them. But tonight was different. She was with a cop instead of her parents and her clothes were covered in blood._

"_Sara, are you okay?" she asked as she kneeled in front of her._

"_Yes," Sara murmured. It was a lie._

_As though understanding that she wouldn't say more, she rose to her feet and asked the cop what was going on. The two walked away so Sara wouldn't hear what they said, but she saw the horror on the Mrs. MacDouglas' face as the cop talked to her. She covered her mouth with her hand and she kept looking back at Sara with wide eyes. She looked upset and it seemed to make the man uncomfortable. After a while, he took his walkie-talkie and spoke to someone and after that he said something to Mrs. MacDouglas and they came back to her._

_James' mom kneeled on the floor in front of her again and stroked Sara's cheek. Her eyes were bright with tears. "Listen, sweetie. The police officer told me you had to stay here all night until someone from social services came to get you." _

_Sara nodded. She already knew that._

"_I told him that I know you very well and that you're my son's best friend, and they finally agreed that you could spend the night at my house. Would you like that?"_

_Sara immediately nodded. Of course, she would rather be with James than spend the night in this awful hospital._

_Mrs. MacDouglas smiled a little and stroked her cheek again. "I'll call the house and let Mily and James know that you're coming. The officer will drive you, okay?"_

_Sara nodded._

_Lisa MacDouglas left and Sara continued to stare at the floor. Near her, a baby was screaming in its mother's arms. Sara felt nauseous. James' mom came back a few minutes later to tell her that everything was arranged and then, after hugging her briefly, Sara left with the officer. _

_She sat in the back seat and almost didn't realize they were already there until the car stopped. She followed the officer up to the MacDouglas' second floor apartment. He rang the bell and the door immediately opened on Emily and James. Sara liked Emily. She was only fifteen but very mature and James adored her. Sara glanced at James but couldn't hold his gaze. Her head was in a fog and there was a hum in her ears. Sometimes, very briefly, the fog would lift and then everything started to spin. _

_Sara closed her eyes and then felt James' hand in hers; he took her to the kitchen while his sister talked to the officer. When the door banged closed, Sara startled and the fog began to lift again. Suddenly, she saw her hands, her arms, her bloody T-shirt, no longer bright red as it had been earlier, but a deeper, darker color. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears, and suddenly, it was as though all her clothes smelled that nauseating iron smell of before, and Sara folded over and threw up all over the tiled floor. _

_When it was all over, her hiccups turned to sobs. "I—I'm—I'm sorry." _

_Mily gently pulled her in a hug. "It's okay, sweetie. It's okay…"_

_Emily helped Sara bathe, removing the dried blood from her body with a soft sponge, careful not to wet the bandage on her neck. Sara remained quiet and tried not to look at the bath water that was slowly turning red with each blood stain that Mily scrubbed from her skin. Quiet tears were running down her cheeks. It was as if her brain was finally waking up to the horror of what had happened, and she wondered what would happen to her now. Foster family. Until she's old enough to live on her own. Would she have to leave San Francisco? Would she still be able to see James and Patrick? And her mother?_

_No. Not her mother._

_Her heart clenched painfully, so did her stomach as she remembered what her mother did to her, to her father, and each new tear running down her face brought with it pain and delusion._

_The bath did make her feel a little better, and when she donned one of Emily's old pyjamas, she was glad that it didn't smell like iron, although she knew deep down that the traces of blood would never completely leave her._

_She went to bed with James. He hugged her close to him and it made her feel safe. And that's when Sara finally let herself to really cry, openly sob, without barriers._

"_What happened, Lya?" James asked softly when she stopped sobbing._

_At first, she didn't feel like talking about it, but she soon realized that telling him might make her feel better, so she told him everything._

_The next morning, two detectives came to see her. She had to tell her story again, and she didn't like that very much, but she did like that they took her bloody clothes with them when they left. _

_It would be the last time Sara spoke of that night for twenty-two years.

* * *

_

Once again, Sara awoke with a start. Her skin was clammy and she abruptly sat up in bed. She looked at her hands; they were shaking but blood-free. _No blood._ A firm, yet gentle grip on her shoulders slowly pulled her back down onto the bed. He held her closely, as he'd done twenty years before, waiting for the tremors that shook her body to subside. In her nightmare, she'd seen her mother's face and the knife. Then the face had changed to Patrick's, the thirteen year old kid of her memories.

Knowing that words would be useless, James didn't say anything, only held her. Conversation had been difficult for both of them since receiving Patrick's message. Sara was focused on keeping her fears under control. Patrick was nuts, a cold-blooded killer who was threatening her even more unequivocally than he was James.

Thinking about Patrick's message brought back the expression on Grissom's face when he had read it. His eyes had filled with…worry? Yes that's what it was, and anger as well. The fact that he had insisted on round the clock protection for her (a cop parked at her door) confirmed how terrified he was for her. She had objected, of course, not wanting to appear weak, and then James had intervened promising Grissom that he would look after her. It was clear to Sara that Grissom had not appreciated the offer, but he couldn't contradict James. He was a FBI agent, more than qualified to handle these situations. And with that settled, Grissom had simply told them they could leave.

Both exhausted, bed had beckoned them, and it had made sense to share hers. They needed to feel safe, Sara especially. But her horrors had still caught up with her in her dreams.

It had taken time, but eventually she managed to go back to sleep.

* * *

Grissom opened his eyes and winced. He immediately realized that once again, he wasn't alone in bed. 

His bed this time.

_God. No. No. No, _came a small voice in his head, a head which happened to be pounding painfully. It wasn't one of his regular migraines making him suffer this time. No, this pain was more generalized and pointed to one thing: he was hung over.

His memories started to come together. Yes, he remembered. They had received Patrick's message and Sara left with James. Together. Almost hand in hand. And then Sofia and Catherine had arrived to tell him that they hadn't found any new evidence at the crime scene. Then Catherine had left, and noticing his sullen mood, Sofia suggested they go out for a drink. _"Just a friendly drink,"_ she'd insisted with a smile when he hesitated. _"I'm not a nymphomaniac, Gil. I'm not going to jump you!"_ He finally accepted and they'd gone to a bar, which was deserted at that time of the morning.

One drink, then two, then three. What had they talked about? He couldn't remember. What he did remember however was his jealousy, the emotion sharper and more painful with each sip of his drink as the alcohol took control of his thoughts. Images of Sara with her handsome FBI friend, each one more vivid than the last, until in the end, he'd been the one jumping Sofia, not the other way around. Not that she'd resisted, of course.

He could have kicked himself for what happened. Despite Sofia's assurances that this meant nothing to her, did it give him the right to treat her like…like an object? He'd become the kind of man he despised, the male chauvinist who treated women like machines, good for nothing but soothing their libido and doing their laundry.

_You'll end up in hot water, Gil_, ranted the little voice in his head.

Unable to dwell on it longer, he left the bed, relieved that Sofia wasn't draped all over him the way she'd been the last time. He rushed to the bathroom, showered, got dressed and then went to the kitchen to make coffee. Looking at the kitchen clock, he saw that it was almost four o'clock. The sound of running water in the bathroom alerted him that she was up and his stomach clenched. He abhorred the mornings after, especially with Sofia. In fact, he hated them with any woman; he never knew how to navigate them, which was why he did this so rarely.

"Good morning," he heard her say and he looked up with a friendly smile, at least as friendly as he could manage.

"Good morning," he said, forcing a note of playfulness in his voice for good measure. "Coffee?"

"Sure."

He poured her a mug of coffee, then topped off his own, needing to keep busy. He was focusing on the coffee when he felt her unwavering gaze on him; he finally looked up. She was holding her mug between both hands, watching him with a small smile on her lips.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing… I was just thinking that before today I never would have thought that Gil Grissom could be so…passionate."

_Passionate? Me… passionate? _He remembered being in the bar with her, vaguely remembered asking her back to his place, but…the alcohol did the rest. But how could he have been passionate…with Sofia? Embarrassed, he brought his cup to his lips again.

"But I realize that your good intentions were not meant for me." Gil raised a brow, throwing her an inquisitive look over the rim of his cup. "Calling out another woman's name during sex is not very tactful."

His coffee went down the wrong way making him cough violently.

"Excuse me?" he finally choked out, daring to look at her again. She was still smiling, seemingly more amused than upset.

"You can stop pretending, Mr. Grissom. I suspect you had too much to drink to remember much, but I think you know precisely what I mean."

He was suddenly horribly uncomfortable and could feel the blood boil in his cheeks. He hoped his beard would cover his embarrassed flush, but suspected it couldn't. Sofia set her mug down and picked up her handbag before heading for the door.

"I'm not complaining. I was more than happy to fill in for her." Grinning, and without waiting for a response, she opened the door and left.

Mouth agape, he stared at the door for a moment, not knowing what to make of her comments. Did he really call out someone else's name? If so, he could guess whose name it was and he wasn't surprised. It was…very strange, but not unpleasantly so. And suddenly, he felt the blood drain from his face as he realized that Sofia also knew now who that someone else was. What he didn't know was what she'd do with the information, and dared not think of the consequences if she spread it around.

He could only pray that Sara would never hear of it.

* * *

Sara wasn't feeling much more rested when she arrived at the lab with James the next day. The three hours of sleep she did manage to get were not restful, and far from restorative. And she'd dragged James to the lab two hours earlier than necessary. So her disposition wasn't exactly sunny and became less so when Grissom also arrived early with Sofia at his side. 

"Hey!" James said jovially as though sensing Sara's tension and trying to lighten the mood.

Grissom responded with a small smile while Sofia asked if they'd had a good day.

"Not particularly," James answered politely. "And you?"

Sofia grinned and threw Grissom a glance that Sara couldn't miss, and then looked directly at Sara rather than James when she answered, "A most pleasant one, thank you for asking."

Sara felt herself pale at her reply which was so…Sofia! Grissom cleared his throat uncomfortably, and had he met her eyes—which unfortunately he avoided—she doubted he would have survived the daggers they were shooting at him.

"Okay," he finally said. "You're early so let's get a head start. Catherine won't be here for another couple of hours, so I suggest we reexamine the evidence."

So saying, they turned their attention to the little evidence they did have—the bed sheets, a pillow, the victim's clothes… Since he wasn't a CSI, James went back to his file. After a while, Sara heard him sigh heavily and went over to him to see what he was looking at. It was the picture of the symbol, their symbol. She shuddered at the thought that Patrick was using it as a signature on his victims.

"When I think of all that…" James began wearily. "If we'd known how Patrick would use this sign, we would have made more of an effort to get him to drop the idea that day on the roof."

"We couldn't predict this, James. We were kids, barely teenagers, and—" Something snapped into place sending a rush of adrenaline through Sara. Her heart pounded in her chest. "The roof!"

Her reaction drew Grissom's and Sofia's attention.

"The roof?" asked James, perplexed.

Sara nodded enthusiastically. "Think, Jamy! Patrick is constantly making references to the three of us, to our childhood. Our birth dates, the symbol, and he killed all his victims on a Thursday. What did we use to do every Thursday?"

His eyes flashed his comprehension. "We'd meet on the roof."

The discovery had pumped Sara with new life. "This is a lead we can't ignore."

Grissom had already removed his latex gloves. "I agree. We can't dismiss anything. Let's go back to Jessica Lown's apartment building and process the roof. If you're right, Sara, we may find new evidence up there."

He left a message on Catherine voice mailbox to let her know where they'd be, and then they took his Tahoe out to the crime scene.

Four people and three bulky cases in a tiny elevator didn't leave them much breathing room. Sara found herself pressed back against Grissom. Perhaps it was her overactive imagination that was feeling his breath on her neck but nevertheless, it sent a rush of stifling heat through her body. Fortunately, it wasn't a skyscraper, but in such an ambiguous moment—when you can't be sure whether it's pleasurable or uncomfortable—time seemed to stretch eternally.

When the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor, Sara welcomed the extra oxygen. She inhaled deeply though silently, and reminded herself to focus on the investigation.

They climbed the stairs to the roof. Even in this smoldering hot city, the late September night was cool, and Sara was glad that she'd thought to wear her jacket. Unfortunately, as they soon realized, the roof wasn't lit and they had to rely on their maglites for illumination.

"I want to treat this roof as a crime scene," Grissom told them. "Given its size and our limited manpower, we'll be more productive with a parallel search." He looked at James. "That means we'll walk in a straight line in a predetermined area to make sure we don't miss anything. It's faster and more effective."

James gave him an amused smile before replying in his usual mild tone. "Thank you for the lesson, Mr. Grissom. I've had many opportunities to work with the CSIs in LA—which in itself is something—but since my closest friend is Sara Sidle, I think I can manage."

Sara couldn't stop a grin from forming on her lips. It was too dark to see Grissom's reaction to James' response, but at a guess she would have said that it irritated the hell out of him. She could feel it oozing out of his pores.

Sofia was fidgeting. "Shall we get to it?"

Soon, four light beams slid slowly over the roof, moving forward parallel to one another. Occasionally someone would stop, but it was always a false alarm.

Then finally, James exclaimed, "I think I've got something." Sara placed a plastic cone at her feet to mark her spot before stepping carefully over to her friend. She looked closely at what he was illuminating with his light. It was blood; a small pool of it, and some spatter.

"Well, it looks like we have a crime scene after all."

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Sara," Grissom replied. He had just joined them, followed closely by Sofia. He opened his kit and retrieved a cotton swab while Sara snapped a couple of pictures.

Meanwhile, Sofia was searching around the blood pool with her maglite. "I've got hairs." She photographed them and then lifted a few strands. "Light brown. Isn't that our victim's hair color?"

"Yes," Grissom said.

Sara had also begun moving away from the blood pool, and stopped when her light picked up something approximately six feet away. Frowning, she walked over to the object and went down on one knee. Underneath a small rock, she found a clear plastic sheet protector containing a sheet of paper.

"Griss, I found a note," she said before lifting her camera and snapping a picture. Grissom quickly joined her and she set the rock aside; carefully, she picked up the sheet protector in her gloved hand before rising to her feet. Grissom, who was behind her, flashed his light over her shoulder and they could clearly see the message, printed in a dark ink that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

"_I see that you've finally found my little gift," _Sara began reading aloud. _"That means I was right about you, Lya, you're a really good CSI. As I write this note, I have yet to send my message to your lab and a young woman is right here with me on this roof…bound. I couldn't have planned this better, could I? The ink I'm using is indeed blood, but it doesn't belong to this whiner. It's from a man I killed earlier today. I left you his fingerprint on the back of this note. (Now you know how useful these amputated fingers are.)_

"_This is just practice. Soon, James will no longer be a problem; and I can hardly wait to…to…"_

Sara couldn't finish the sentence even though the words were clearly and horribly resonating in her skull. _'…to feel the blade of my knife slicing smoothly into your skin, Sara.' _

The note shook between her fingers and she realized that her hand was trembling. And her teeth were lightly chattering as well, as they would if she were freezing. He had killed again. It was entertaining to him. He enjoyed it!

And he wanted to kill _her._

She felt a hand on her shoulder, Grissom's, who was still behind her. With his other hand, he reached around her and gently took the letter from her fingers. And this time she really did feel his breath near her ear, but her thoughts were now completely devoid of ulterior motives.

"I won't let this animal near you, Sara," he said so softly that only she would hear him. But despite the gentleness in his voice, she could still hear raw anger underlying his words. "I promise you."

His hand squeezed her shoulder then, and Sara closed her eyes.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N_** : I really heartily and gratefully thank **Dani**e for the awesome job she's doing with the translation. The chapters are becoming longer now, so don't forget your thanks and encouragements :))  
And of course, I thank you all very _very_ much guys for responding so amazingly to this story, and letting me know!! I couldn't be happier :))

**Category: **Romance/Angst/Action

**_Pairing _**: GSR

**_Raiting_ **: T

**_Disclaimer_** : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_Spoilers_** : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

**SUMMARY** : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

**

* * *

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Deadly Neglect

* * *

Chapter Six

Grissom was in a rage. It was a rare emotion for him and when it happened, he felt as though he was boiling from the inside. Of course, it wasn't in his nature to yell or throw things. His anger manifested itself differently, in a stony expression, dark eyes, and a clenched jaw—which was what James and Sofia were presented with when he joined them.

Certain cases got to him, particularly those involving children, but also the ones that touched him personally, the cases that put his people in danger, such as what had happened to Nick last May. After having spent so much time with his staff over the years, they'd become one big family and when one member was threatened, they all were; he was. The fact that it was Sara's life being threatened had turned anger into a slow boiling rage.

Patrick Miller was insane—there was no longer any doubt about that.

He silently communicated what was going on to James who immediately drew Sara into a hug, whispering something only she could hear. Gil quickly shook off the jealousy that pricked his gut every time he saw her in the other man's arm. It really wasn't the time to lose his head over this.

"Let's finish processing," he snapped. "The faster we finish here, the faster we can get back to the lab."

His anger had sharpened his tongue which he immediately regretted when Sara's gave him a confused look. He'd just told her he would protect her, and two minutes later, he was once again cold and distant. He started to say something, but she quickly shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said softly. "Let's get back to work."

She returned to the spot she'd marked off and he did the same, but they didn't find any new evidence. The killer had been careful to leave only what he wanted and their return to the lab had been in silence.

Back at the lab, Gil turned over the blood and hair samples they'd collected from the roof to Mya. All that was left to do was process the bloody print left on the back of the note. The others joined him as he was scanning the print into the computer; Catherine had also arrived and he quickly briefed her on the new developments in the case. She was as stunned as the rest of them.

"Do you think the vic's is in the system?" Sofia asked Grissom as they watched the AFIS monitor scroll.

"If Patrick left the print it's because he knew it would lead somewhere."

The scrolling on the right monitor suddenly stopped; they had a match. All eyes were on the screen as Sara read: "Nicholas Thomson. Arrested for shoplifting at sixteen."

"And coincidentally, he was born on February 4th, 1971," James added.

Gil was already dialing a number on his cell. "Jim, it's Gil. We have an address for a homicide we suspect was committed on Thursday." He gave Brass an address just outside of town, and told him they'd meet him there.

Hanging up he turned to his team. "Sara and MacDouglas, you're coming with me. Catherine and Sofia, you stay on the evidence we collected on the roof." Handing Catherine the note, he added, "And process this."

No one objected and within minutes Gil, Sara, and MacDouglas were in the Tahoe heading out.

In the passenger seat, Sara shook her head, confused. "Something doesn't make sense. If the blood we found on the roof is Jessica's, why did we find her tied up to her bed?"

"Setting the stage," James replied from the back seat. Sara looked at him over her left shoulder. "In my opinion, he killed her on the roof, or at least seriously wounded her there, and then carried her down to her bed bound and gagged."

"He's making it more difficult for himself," remarked Gil whose attention was on his driving but was keeping an ear on the conversation.

"If he's doing this it's because it's important to him. He could have assaulted her in her apartment but he made a point of doing it on the roof," James added.

"He's incorporating habits from our past in his killings," Sara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gil sensed her distress and hated to see her so upset. The sooner they stopped this madman the better it would be for everyone involved.

"Speaking of the roof," James continued, "I called my colleagues earlier and asked them to go back to the scenes of each murdered woman and look for blood evidence on the roofs. I realize that some of these murders are a few months' old, but it's worth a try…"

Gil was pleased by MacDouglas' initiative. He didn't really like the guy, but he had to admit that he was good at his job. "I agree; it's worth a try," he admitted though without excessive praise.

If he'd been looking at Sara, he would have caught the small smile that touched her lips, as though she'd found the exchange between the two men amusing. But her smile disappeared as she refocused on the case.

"I don't understand how he managed to drag that poor woman up to the roof and then back down when she was probably wounded—or dead—without being noticed."

"It was late and the neighbors were asleep," offered Grissom. "It's the only explanation that makes sense."

"But there's no evidence of a break-in in this case, or any of the others, right?"

"True," admitted James, "but that suggests that the victims knew Patrick and trusted him enough to let him in."

"You spend too much time with profilers, Jamy… you're starting to sound like them." Sara sighed and looked out the passenger window at the passing scenery.

Gil also thought that James was jumping to several conclusions. However, he'd been working this case for several months which gave him an edge.

They remained silent after that, contemplations turned internally. Soon, they reached their destination. Nicolas Thomson's house was located in a run down housing development; from the outside, the house looked rather small. A cruiser was parked out front; Brass was already there with two uniformed officers, waiting for them.

He joined them as they left the Tahoe. "I decided to wait for you guys before going in. I wouldn't want to compromise your crime scene."

Gil nodded stiffly, unconcerned. Brass was more than familiar with procedures and after he told him that he'd be interviewing neighbors, Grissom went into the house, followed closely by Sara and MacDouglas.

They entered into a dark hallway; a nasty odor greeted them. The stench of death. Their maglites swept the floor, but nothing seemed out of place, which didn't entirely surprise Gil. Based on what they knew of this killer thus far, he doubted they'd find anything other than a dead body…

"You can go straight to the kitchen," MacDouglas said. "That's where he killed him…"

Looking for the kitchen and the likely crime scene, Gil opened the first door on the right. It was a bedroom. He would return to it later.

Sara directed her light to the second door on the left. "This one." Gil raised a quizzical brow and she shrugged. He made his way to the door and turned the handle.

No one heard the faint click as the door opened, but they couldn't miss the stench that greeted them. Grissom's eyes narrowed, his only reaction to the unpleasant odor as his light found the body. The man's head was lying in a pool of blood, and while the CSIs were not surprised to find another victim, they were no less affected by it.

"Shit!" MacDouglas hissed.

Gil looked back at his colleagues. MacDouglas was staring at the body, his jaw clenched; Sara's eyes were closed and her features were frozen in pain. When she opened her eyes and met Gil's gaze, she shook her head lightly, silently letting him know she was okay. Letting out a breath, Gil turned to the body stretched out on the cold kitchen floor and crouched next to the victim as the flash from Sara's camera relentlessly documented the body.

James hadn't moved from the doorway, but his light flitted over the room, suddenly stopping on an electrical cable along one of the walls near the ceiling. His light slowly followed the cable back to the doorway and James entered the room as he continued tracing the black cable's path to a small mechanism mounted on the wall above the door. His stomach clenched. It looked like a trigger—

Quickly, his light followed the cable back to where it originated and disappeared in a glass enclosed case on the wall opposite the door. He quickly crossed the room to take a closer look.

"James? What is it?" asked Sara.

Gil looked up, instantly annoyed at MacDouglas for entering the kitchen without precaution and potentially compromising the crime scene. But one look at the man's face as he examined the contents of the case confirmed that something was seriously wrong. Instinctively, he grabbed Sara's arm as he rose to his feet, dragging her up with him.

James could clearly see the black box behind the glass…the red, digital numbers quickly counting down, and a message. **'SURPRISE!'**

12…11…10…

"Get out!" he shouted, looking back at his colleagues. "He hid a bomb!"

Grissom could have stayed rooted to the spot in disbelief for a long moment, his muscles turning to atrophy as muscles tended to do in the event of such chilling news, but that didn't happened. His mind whirled in alarm, one voice roaring: _Get her out of here, now!_

Without a moment's hesitation he tightened his grip on Sara's arm and drew her to the kitchen door pushing her out ahead of him.

6… 5… 4…

They ran down the hallway, Grissom not allowing her to look back to check that James was following. The front door seemed a mile away.

3… 2… 1…

Just as the front door burst open, a terrific blast shook the walls of the house and propelled them violently out into the night. Gil had barely grabbed Sara when the bomb detonated and within a second they were hitting the graveled drive with force, and debris was falling down around them. Gil held Sara tightly, his body covering hers protectively.

He could hear officers yell from a distance, Brass's voice as he rushed toward them; he could also hear Sara's gasps beneath him. She tensed and tried to get up.

"Jamy!" she yelled, trying to break free of Grissom who had already eased his crushing hold on her, but wouldn't release her so she could run back to the blazing house. Jamy!" she cried again, motioning hysterically, trying to slip from his steel grip, managing to raise herself to her knees. "Let me go! God, James! Let me…! Let me…Jamy…"

She was sobbing uncontrollably and Grissom wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him as he tried to calm her down and stop her from doing something suicidal.

"Let me go…" she begged through her tears even as she stopped fighting him, finally understanding that he wouldn't release her. She folded over, her forehead coming into contact with the ground; her hands were pressed against her face, muffling her sobs.

Brass was upon them, shouting things that Gil, still shaken, couldn't quite comprehend. He was only aware of the woman in his arms, shaking, more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her, and all he could do was strengthen his hold on her.

* * *

She was back in the hospital. 

God she hated this place. She visited often because of her work, but this was different. When she had to come for personal reasons, it brought back old memories, old fears… added to her current emotional state …

The waiting room was as depressing as ever. People talked, children cried, and the odor of blood and medication filled the air. Sara was pacing. She was pacing to distract herself, but mostly to hold on to her wits. She was aware that she was still in a state of shock over the explosion. It wasn't even her first time, but she didn't think one ever got used to it.

Her hair was seriously mussed up, in a tangle as though it had just been through a hurricane. There was dust on her face, black soot from the explosion, and bloody scratches from hitting the graveled drive. The tears that had flowed abundantly earlier had left long, clear streaks along their paths. Her clothes were in no better shape, torn, dirty. But she didn't care about her appearance. A cloud had settled over her mind; her legs felt like rags and were shaking, and her ears were still humming. And she was just becoming aware of the throbbing pain in her right shoulder and wrist, which had managed to somewhat clear her head, but she didn't want to have them examined yet.

She was waiting.

She was waiting for a doctor to come tell her how James was doing.

She had thought him dead. In the minutes following the explosion, she'd been sure of it and it had almost destroyed her. Then the fire department and the paramedics came and found James's body, unconscious and terribly banged-up, but alive in the back yard, less than six feet away from the house. Sara hadn't noticed the other door leading to a small garden off the kitchen. James obviously had and managed to escape through it, but not quickly enough. Having been closer to the source of the explosion, the blast had hit him hard and burned him.

It had all happened so quickly that she'd barely been aware at first of the paramedics loading James into the ambulance. Another paramedic had come to see if they were injured and Grissom had to answer for her. The ambulance left and Brass drove them to the hospital in Grissom's Tahoe, judging him unable to drive.

Grissom was in the waiting room as well. He was leaning against a wall, his eyes seemingly closed, but Sara knew better. They were slightly open and attentively following her back and forth movements across the room. His outward appearance wasn't better than Sara's, if not worse since he'd voluntarily exposed his body to the elements when he covered hers. His face was also dark with dust and ashes, and he had an ugly wound on his left cheek; blood had trickled down from the wound to his chin and onto his jacket. He should have had it examined; it most likely required stitches. But he hadn't left Sara's side one second since this terrible tragedy and didn't seem ready to do so.

He was watching over her, like a guardian angel.

If she hadn't been so traumatized, she might have taken the time to think about everything that had happened, everything he'd done for her, and the significance of it. But for now, anxiety was still clenching her stomach too violently to allow her thoughts to move in that direction.

She nervously lifted her hand to drag it through her hair and immediately regretted it when a sharp, burning pain shot through her right shoulder. A small exclamation of pain left her lips as her left arm reflexively gripped her throbbing limb. A bad idea. It only sent a second wave of pain to her shoulder, and her tired body responded accordingly. Her head started spinning and black dots clouded her vision. She felt herself falling, but she never hit the ground. Something had gripped her waist and held her up. She let the dead weight of her body rest against this solid wall that had suddenly appeared in front of her and as the blackness receded and she began to open her eyes she realized that it wasn't a wall at all, but a living, breathing body, and his hands that had gripped her hips.

Lifting her still hazy gaze, her eyes met his concerned blue one.

"Feeling better?" His voice was so soft and caring that she felt her eyes fill with tears. Without saying anything, she closed them and let her head fall heavily to his chest. She could hear his rapid heartbeat, and it soothed her. His hands gentled on her hips, releasing them, and with infinite tenderness and caution, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He had held on to her an hour ago, but it was nothing compared to this. The first time it had been to protect her, to stop her from doing something stupid. Now, while his arms were equally protective, the way he held her felt different. In the years she had known him, she couldn't remember once having been this close to him. The most they had touched before tonight was when he'd held her hand. No. There was something drastically different about him. It was as though the wall that he had kept erected between them had suddenly crumbled, perhaps not completely, but enough to let her get close to him. And it set off a new wave of emotions in her. The warm comfort of his arms, the sensation of his breath in her hair, the beat of his heart, which was accelerating, and knowing that she was responsible for it, gave the deep love she felt for him new meaning.

"Miss Sara Sidle?"

Their protective cocoon suddenly burst and reality slipped into place. Sara lifted her head and opened her eyes, turning toward the person who had called her name. She felt a wave of disappointment as Grissom gently released her.

"That's me," she answered the doctor who joined them, frowning as he took in their appearance.

His gaze came to rest on the wound on Grissom's cheek. "Sir, I think you need—"

"How is James?" Sara bluntly interrupted, her concern for her friend back in full force.

Her behavior didn't appear to surprise the doctor who was used to dealing with anxious people. He nodded and smiled, which could only mean one thing: James was going to make it.

"Mr. MacDouglas has suffered third-degree burns to his right leg and several second degree burns, but the majority are superficial, not life threatening. We have treated him and he'll soon be transferred to a private room. Expect him to be here for a week. He's unconscious at the moment, but you'll be able to visit him tomorrow afternoon."

Sara closed her eyes as an enormous weight lifted from her chest. She breathed in relief. James was okay. Once again, without thinking, she lifted her hand to her face, not thinking of her shoulder, but Grissom was right behind her and didn't hesitate to catch her as she grimaced in pain.

"Now that you're reassured," continued the doctor in a most serious tone, "I want you both to get examined and treated."

They didn't argue and soon, they were taken to separate examination rooms.

They took Sara to radiology for x-rays, and as she'd guessed, her shoulder was dislocated. Her wrist was badly sprained and they wrapped it after snapping her shoulder into place, a move that almost made her faint again. A nurse then disinfected and dressed the wounds on her face and hands. With her arm in a sling and her assurances that she would avoid abrupt movements for three days, she was finally released.

Grissom was waiting for her in the main lobby of the hospital. He was on the phone, his back to her. Sara approached him, but unwilling to interrupt his conversation, maintained some distance between them. He finally ended his conversation, and as if sensing her presence, turned in her direction.

Sara's eyes widened in surprise. "Your beard!" she exclaimed and immediately felt herself flush.

He smiled as he joined her, stroking a hand down his uninjured cheek. "They had to shave my left cheek to put in stitches, so I asked them to shave it all off while they were at it. I'm not big on setting trends, and half a beard was a little too innovative for my tastes."

Sara grinned, and without thinking, gently ran a finger down his smoothly-shaven face. "Well, I prefer you without."

They gazes locked and butterflies filled Sara's stomach. But before more could be said, Brass joined them. His expression was serious and he looked worn out, reminding Sara that their problems were far from over. The smile left her lips.

"Glad to see you're both okay," he said before focusing on Grissom. "Nice shave, Gil." And then his tone turned serious. "Things are heating up at the station and the lab. Ecklie's put the entire day and night shifts on the explosion. He's riled up and wants Miller found immediately."

Gil chuckled, shaking his head, not really surprised by Ecklie's reaction. Sara had also suspected that he would now mobilize everybody—as long as he didn't have to join the front lines, of course.

Brass turned to her. "This has turned into a very dangerous situation for you, Sara. You'll need round the clock protection. We're putting an experienced agent outside your building and you're released from duty until we find this guy."

"What! You're taking me off the case? You don't have the authority to—"

"It's on Ecklie's orders, and for your protection."

"My protection, my ass. He's just worried I'm going to risk someone else's life in his precious lab and that's why he wants to distance me from the case."

Brass opened his mouth to answer, but Grissom beat him to it. "I want her to stay at my place."

Sara had already opened her mouth, ready with an indignant reply, but it was shock that kept it open. "What?"

Grissom glanced at her, and then looked at Brass. "She won't be safe at her place. Even with a cop out front, anyone can go into her apartment building. We can't i.d. people at the door. I live in a house, which eliminates that problem."

Sara shook her head, still stunned, but Grissom didn't give her time to object. He grabbed her good wrist, not forcefully but with determination, and stared at her. "And you will stay out of the lab until Patrick is apprehended. Being there is too dangerous; he's too clever. In any event, you're injured and need to heal before you can get back to work."

Sara shook her head again. "No, Grissom, I—"

He pressed a finger across her lips and his gaze bore into hers. "I promised to keep you safe, Sara. Please…let me keep that promise."

When he put it that way, she found herself incapable of further protests. "Okay," she finally murmured. "I'll go to your place."

He held her gaze a moment longer, as though trying to read in her eyes what was going on in her head, but then he turned to Brass who was watching them with interest, and some surprise. "You can go ahead and inform the big boss, Brass. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

TBC


End file.
